


At the End of the Road

by mind_and_malady



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fratricide, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, burial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2399738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/mind_and_malady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of a long damn road, but Sam never wanted it like this. He never wanted to be standing here alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of the Road

**Author's Note:**

> Have fun crying

It appeared to be a perfectly normal Sunday morning. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining. The air was hot and dry and dusty, but the faint, warm breeze carried the smell of blood and charred flesh, growing stronger as the morning pressed on.

The bonfire had been assembled slowly and deliberately in the very early hours of morning, the body placed on top of it with great care. Salt and gasoline had been poured over the body and the odd collection of objects next to it – a coffee mug, a bathrobe, a Taurus made handgun, a few family pictures. The man who built the bonfire stood close to the corpse for a long moment, his shoulders shaking, before stepping away. He lit the lighter that had last belong to the dead man, and threw it into the fire. The dry wood caught quickly, aided by the gasoline, and the pile would quickly burn itself down to nothing but ash.

Sam Winchester slowly sat down in front of the fire, bleary eyed. His eyes itched, but he’d already been crying for so long that his body had nothing left to give. Dean hadn’t left him with any other choice, he knew it, and he knew he hadn’t even meant to do it. Instinct and decades of experience had ingrained some reactions in him, and he’d simply moved the knife and – and Dean was gone. And Sam was alone. He didn’t even have Cas to talk to, and the thought makes him close his eyes. Dean had taken Cas down with him too.

The knife that killed his brother is resting at his waist, where it will always rest, because it was too useful to get rid of. But Sam wanted to destroy it, wanted to throw the knife into the blaze and watch it fall apart. He wanted to take the knife and slice through his arteries, wanted to bleed out on the grass in front of Dean’s funeral pyre. He wouldn’t, though. That was the easy way out, in his mind. He didn’t deserve to die easy.

The wind blows in from Sam’s right, carries with it the smell of crisp frost and snow, and he doesn’t even need to look to see who it is. And honestly? He doesn’t care.

“Sam,” Lucifer breathes, voice aching with sympathy. It doesn’t sound false. Sam says nothing, even as Lucifer comes closer, even as he sits down beside Sam with his knee brushing Sam’s thigh. “Sam,” he repeats, and he sounds like being here is physically painful. “What happened?”

Sam lets out a broken laugh, still staring at the dwindling pyre. “It’s a long story,” he says, his voice wrecked with grief and the memory of tears.

He sees Lucifer nodding in his peripheral vision. “I’m sorry,” he says, and his hand wraps around Sam’s forearm in a gentle grip.

“Don’t be,” Sam says, voice distant to his own ears. “This was always going to happen. We’ve been coming this way for a long, long time.” He lets out a shattered sound that was probably supposed to be an ironic laugh. “Cain and Abel, right? Brother killing brother. Destiny, Fate, all that.”

Lucifer’s grip tightens minutely in his surprise. “You – _you_?”

Sam swallows, closing his eyes from the fire and tilting his head down. “Yeah,” he whispers hoarsely. “Me.”

“Why?”

“Part of that long story,” Sam says, and his shoulders shake as he lets out a dry, tearless sob. “ _Fuck._ This is – this isn’t – this wasn’t supposed to _happen._ ”

Lucifer slides closer, wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulder, and presses his face into Sam’s hair. “I know, Sam. Believe me, I know.”

There’s something there in Lucifer voice that’s double-edged and sharp and full of pain. Sam doesn’t resist his hold, just leans into him and grabs the hand that was holding his arm, squeezes it tight. “You too?” he asks, voice aching with empathy and understand.

Lucifer just nods into Sam’s hair, and they spend a moment sitting there in the light of the morning sun, listening to the snaps and crackles of the ashes and bones. “I didn’t want to either,” Lucifer whispers, voice tight. “Hell wasn’t good for Michael. He was…twisted. When we got out, he tried to kill me. I tried to talk to him, but he – he wouldn’t _listen_. I wasn’t ready to die, Sam, so I defended myself and – and I –”

Sam turns and pulls Lucifer into a hug, Lucifer falling into his hold and just holding on. The angle is awkward, but neither of them care. They _need_ this. They need something to hold onto, they need _someone_ in this world where they’ve lost everything else. They need someone who understands and needs what they need, too, and nobody fits that bill the way they fit each other. Nobody else knew what it was to have fought fate to save your brother, only for him to die at your own hand anyway, nobody else knew how to _empathize_ with that level of tragic horror.

“I know,” Sam breathes, and Lucifer lets out a sound like he’s been punched.

They stay there for a long, long time. Long enough that, by the time Sam wills himself to gather them up, the ashes have run cold. The jar Sam puts them in is a simple mason jar with a plain brass lid, and he stares at it for what feels like forever, thinking about how his big brother has been reduced to the ashes and tiny bits of bone in this jar. He takes a deep breath as Lucifer twines their fingers together, squeezing slightly. It should feel strange and invasive and not at all okay, but instead, Sam feels comforted.

They can live through this, Sam decides, the knowledge ringing in his mind with its truth. They can live through the deaths of their brothers and their families and their friends. They can learn to live.

Sam looks at the charred grass for a moment, his heart moving from his throat back to his chest where it belonged. He nods to himself, and turns away, guides Lucifer back to the dirt road that will take them home.


End file.
